


Clockwork

by Tickle2Kill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Inspired by Music, M/M, Making Up, Misunderstandings, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 19:32:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11111346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tickle2Kill/pseuds/Tickle2Kill
Summary: Purebloods are used to getting what they want. Draco wishes he wouldn't. It hurts too much to have, because it's not really his, is it?Harry had never been his.





	Clockwork

**Author's Note:**

> Bits that start and end with *** are in the past.
> 
> Please enjoy and if you do, consider buying me a [ coffee! ](https://ko-fi.com/ticklekill)

Draco's first stop once his Friday late shift was over was to a little cafe down the street from St Mungos. His colleagues said he was just asking for trouble by staying so close, but he didn't want to go home tonight.

 

Blaise told him he was being a coward, hiding out with tea and salad when he had a perfectly good flat to go to, but there wasn't enough courage in the world to help him get there.

 

"Need another?" Miss Adelaide offered, smiling gently when he startled and looked up. She was about forty-two and had been in Mungos twice for some issue with her lungs. Healer Gillan had prescribed the only potion they knew that could help her and sent her on her way.

 

Draco must have been staring because Miss Adelaide frowned. "Long night?"

 

"What?" He muttered distractedly, then blinked. "Oh, yeah...had ten patients come in at once. Drunken, blindfolded Quidditch."

 

She whistled low and shook her head, taking his empty cup. "Kids these days."

 

"Every one of them was over fifty."

 

A laugh, clear as a bell, came from her at that and she turned. "I can't even decide which is worse. Youngs fools or old ones."

 

"Some people just never learn."

 

"Oh, isn't that the truth!" Miss Adelaide left to get him more tea and the former silence rushed back.

 

He was off for the rest of the day, so maybe he would just wait until the Aurors switched shifts and then go home. After all, his flat couldn't stop time. Well, maybe not the flat, but...what awaited him there could. That one time in March when he had been free for a whole month and they hadn't left the bed for half of it. Time had stopped then. Had stopped, skewered him and let him fall hard just as the sun came up on their last free day and he had been left alone.

 

Miss Adelaide gave him a fresh cup and his bill, waving to a few customers who had come in. Draco drank the tea too fast and burned his tongue, but a simple spell had him set to rights. Maybe he could crash at Pansy's until morning proper, which was only four hours away. No, she had a new beau and wouldn't have space.

 

The elderly couple that had come in sat next to each other and were smiling brightly despite having only twelve teeth between them. Draco's heart flipped heavily and he bit back tears, fishing a couple Galleons out of his pocket and setting them on the table. Miss Adelaide could do with the tip.

 

The air outside the cafe was warm and humid, the sky thick with clouds that threatened rain, but really just held the heat in. His long robe was too heavy for this weather, but he didn't care. Draco walked down the street away from St Mungos, passing by complete strangers who knew his face and his name and made faces of their own at him. He was still working on his public image since the fall of Voldemort and the exposing article Rita Skeeter had written detailing all the Death Eaters serving during the Second War. A lot of people were still trying to rebuild after all the damage and he helped where and when he could, especially down at Mungos. It was honest work and he got to interact with all sorts of people, hear stories and heal wounds and cure ills and he was useful. Draco could withstand a thousand glares if it meant he was being useful.

 

It was far too late, or early, to do most of the things he wanted to and it was depressing to know he couldn't go home yet. He couldn't walk in that space and see that face... _his_ face. Just thinking about it brought it up in his mind's eye and he shut his eyes tight against the images. His heart was beating so fast he could hear it and he stopped walking.

 

_Damn it! Damn him!_

 

The tears he had held back were coming back with force and he dodged into an alley so he could sit down. The ground was rough against his palms, but it helped ground Draco's mind and he dug his fingers down into it. Concrete doesn't give and his bones were aching from the pressure, but he didn't let up.

 

He wanted to be numb.

 

 

* * *

 

***

 

“You’re still tense.” Draco observed, reaching out to run his hands down the front of glaringly red robes. The Auror badge was shiny and intimidating where it sat over a rapidly beating heart. A jolt of pleasure ran through him at the knowledge that he had been the cause of that beating. “Want to talk about it?”

 

“No,” There was a frustratingly determined pout on the face before him and it made him smile. “I just want to lay here with you for a little.”

 

“You came here on break, didn’t you?” Draco asked with a breathy laugh, settling his head back against the pillows. “Didn’t your boss tell you to stay on premises?”

 

“She can live without me for an hour. I want to be here right now. Sanity reasons.”

 

“Last time it was a _family emergency_.”

 

“You were sick.”

 

“With the flu, which I will remind you is treatable with potions and proper hydration. I survived.”

 

“Only because I brought you soup.” A small smirk was forming on the lips still wet from suckling at his neck. Draco wanted to make his own mark, but whenever the Auror robes were on, they had to keep it quick and clean.

 

“I liked your kisses more.” He took full advantage of the fact that lips were completely on the table, red robes or not. A hand in his hair, tugging, short-circuited his brain and he forgot where he was for a moment.

 

When he finally pulled away, he was breathless. Green eyes shined at him in amusement. “Greedy.”

 

“Malfoy.” he said in response, burrowing down a little so he could lay his head on a firm chest. The heart beat he had made run wild only a handful of minutes ago was steadily slowing down. The sound comforted him.

 

“After work, I need to talk to you about something.”

 

Draco looked up slowly, not wanting to seem as frightened as he felt. “Yeah?”

 

“Just, uh, don’t be surprised. And don’t cry.”

 

Draco huffed and turned his face away so he could hide his fear better. “Good luck getting tears out of me, Potter.”

 

“That’s Auror Potter to you.” With a show of strength that sometimes stunned him, Draco was flipped over onto his back. “Should I show you what happens to disrespectful wizards?”

 

With him looming over him, black hair in disarray that he could proudly claim was the result of his hand, Draco was more than willing to agree to see just about anything.

 

***

* * *

 

 

The ground beneath him was hard and he was biting his tongue so much that he tasted blood, but Draco didn’t trust himself to not break down if he let even a sliver of what he felt show. There was a deep pit of pain right where his heart should be and it pulsed every time he let himself think about what was waiting for him at his flat. He would have to sell the place or he would never stop weeping. This was pathetic.

 

Anger ran alongside pain, but neither one won out, both equal in their desire to tear him in two.

 

He hadn’t asked for this and he refused to believe he ever did anything to deserve it. He swore to never touch Firewhisky again, or to attend social gatherings, or to _breathe_ if this ache inside him would just go away.

 

After a while he realized he had been sitting against a brick wall on the filthy ground of an alley in his lime green scrubs and climbed to his feet. He needed to change, but he wasn’t up to walking back to Mungos just for civvies. With a wave of his wand, he transfigured the lime green to dark blue and cleaned the dust and dirt off of his hands.

 

Draco hadn’t ever thought that he would be an intruder in his own home and because of how _certain_ he had been that there would never be a need to run from _Auror Potter_ , he had never invested in a separate living space as he had always assumed that they would...that they could...

 

A shake of his head was enough to dispel that useless thought of an aborted future and he made for the high traffic areas further downtown. His instincts took over the second he was around large groups of people and his face betrayed no hint of his inner turmoil. His mother and father had taught him well, and though he had foolishly shown no sign of having absorbed those lessons while at Hogwarts, he knew every step of this complicated dance. Bodies pressed against him when he had to cross the street quickly and cars horns blared both distant and near. Slipping from the magically cloaked neighborhoods and into the purely muggle ones was ridiculously easy.

 

Engines chugged or purred, shouts rose up and laughs got carried away by loud, thumping music. A pub a few meters in front of him let out a few stumbling women and for a second he pictured how easy it would be to use his charm and looks to get them to a hotel with him. He was actually heading towards them when he caught the scent of perfume and liquor rolling off them and his stomach turned.

 

 

* * *

 

***

 

There were a thousand parties where The Boy Who Lived and Malfoy’s heir could attend together without putting themselves under scrutiny and Draco was amazed at how easy it was now for Harry to clear the space around him with a few muttered words and a solemn face.

 

They always seemed to bump into each other down halls that most people weren’t allowed in and then there was the playacting until they could find a door to lock behind themselves. Sometimes Draco would be so worked up from waiting that he’d take him against the door or the floor, or across soft couches made for the lady of the house. Fresh-pressed oils of lavender and jasmine had left their scent on the cushions and with each thrust the smell would become thicker and Harry would smell like flowers for the rest of the night.

 

Other times, Harry would beg off his many admirers with some excuse, snag Draco on the way outside and shove him down onto the lawn to take him there. Draco loved those times. He loved the smell of the earth in his hair and his clothes, despite how many cleansing spells they had thrown at each other before rejoining the party. A few times, Harry had left his cloak on the ground and Draco had worn it home, tucking it under his pillow like the lovesick fool he was.

 

One night, the guests had refused to let Harry slip away and asked for a thousand speeches about his adventures and what made him strong enough to take on a Dark Lord. The building agitation was palpable, but the eager partiers just wouldn’t ease off and Harry was too polite at the worst of times. Hermione and Ron would have attended, he found out later, but they were both busy with international affairs and couldn’t make it. Without his friends to buffer him and engulfed by vapid fame hounds, Harry looked all the more like a man out of his depth. Draco would have simply watched and waited for the inevitable explosion, but he found he was almost jealous of the attentions (and wandering hands) of those surrounding Harry.

 

With tact only someone born and bred to outtalk the most powerful of men, Draco wheedled himself into the conversation and slyly commandeered the scar-headed boy of the hour.

 

“But he was about to tell us the story of the Basilisk!” A matronly woman complained, sniffling into her handkerchief as if she was being brought to tears by the impending loss.

 

“Another time, perhaps, Madam. Now, excuse us, we must not keep the Minister waiting.” Draco guided Harry with a hand on his elbow and didn’t stop walking until they were at least half a ballroom away from everyone. The empty pantry Draco steered them into was just large enough for both of them comfortably and he spelled the door shut.

 

“Finally,” Harry sighed wearily, sagging against a big cask that held his weight marvelously. He was visibly wound up, his fists clenched at his sides. “I thought I was going to be stuck there all night.”

 

“I wouldn’t leave you to them. Ginny couldn’t make it?” She took up a lot of Harry’s time, but they were just friends. Draco had long since accepted that the Weaselette was firmly embedded in his relationship with Harry whether or not he wanted her. Which was a mercurial desire at the best of times.

 

“She’s helping George at the shop.” A sad smile came over his lips and he met Draco’s eyes. “Seven years since Fred.”

 

Draco nodded, having gotten so close to both Harry and Ginny that he knew more about the Weasleys than he ever thought he would. Last Christmas he had even helped pick out Ron’s present. He’d never actually attended any of their gatherings, though. Another sigh and Draco closed the distance between them, pulling at Harry’s balled up fists until they went slack in his grip and he was able to weave their fingers together. Harry was a taut string, one twist away from snapping. Usually he would help with that, on his knees if need be, but Draco waited until Harry made the first move.

 

“How are you?” he asked instead of letting himself lean just a few more inches forward to kiss away the scowl on Harry’s face.

 

“I’ll tell you after a good night’s sleep.”

 

“I could use one of those, too.”

 

“Long shift?”

 

“I only got off because Gillan hates seeing the same faces when she comes back twelve hours later.”

 

“You pulled a whole day?” There was a tone of admonishment in his voice, but Draco had heard it before and he gripped the fingers in his a little tighter. Either one of them judging the other on work hours was a long game of the pot calling the kettle black.

 

“Two actually.”

 

That earned him a firm smack on the chest and a low whistle.

 

“Did you even take a break?”

 

“There was a familial dispute over a will.”

 

“Kyzetsky?”

 

“You had that case?”

 

“No, Garver had that one. I got roped in for all the paperwork later.”

 

“I was one of the first Healers down there when they all came in and when the rest left after their shift I stayed on board to brief the next roster.”

 

“Didn’t occur to you to leave as well?”

 

“You know I hate leaving a job half-finished.”

 

A half-hearted hum greeted that excuse and Harry let go of one of his hands to get a good hold on him and pull him closer.

 

“Well, you got me away from the dragons,” Draco found it incredibly hard to pull away and decided maybe it wasn’t worth it. After all, Harry had already wrapped him up tight, and he wasn’t sure that was strictly physical. Harry kissed him soft at first, leaning back to smirk at Draco’s weak attempts to reel him back in, and said, “Now save me from world.”

 

Draco had absolutely no objection to that order.

 

***

* * *

 

He could do with a drink.

 

Draco had always shied away from the classic vices of booze, drugs and gambling as it would have been far too easy for him to acquire them and he hadn't wanted to introduce that kind of dependency into his life. Unfortunately for him, the vice of wanting what he couldn't have had already taken hold. Perhaps entertaining another would balance him out. It was a terrible idea, he knew, but desperation made him eager to throw caution to the wind.

 

After the war, he and his father had gone through a hellish falling out and despite their best (or half-arsed) tries to repair the damage between them, it had never taken hold. He managed to avoid sinking into material dependency to cope with the pain of it all, and now should not be more painful than losing the relationship with his father...but he couldn’t tell the difference anymore. Maybe it was because he had shut it all off during the trials and never turned it back on, but the flood of emotions that were crowding in around him were enough to sweep him off his feet and wash him away.

 

He sidestepped the women giggling outside a pub and ducked inside.

 

It was a normal muggle establishment and he found himself a place at the bar, leaning against the solid wood and settling on a stool. He let out a measured breath and ordered something with only a hint of alcohol. He had time to kill after all. As the bartender took his muggle money and he swallowed the first gulp of whatever beer they had on tap, Draco forced himself to focus on what he’d have to do tomorrow.

 

He would be stuck on the Fourth Floor for a full shift, which was always fun, and if he picked the right zone, he wouldn’t even be able to take personal calls or visitors. He could make himself unavailable for hours at a time. Maybe he could just stay in Mungos, take empty beds when they were available. Maybe he didn’t even need his flat.

 

He opened a tab, which was being generous with his self control, and set about making a sort of plan for other sleeping arrangements. Considering he had forced himself to live solely off the money he made off his own hard work, he didn’t have the funds to just buy another place. Until he sold his flat, or rented it out, he would have to find something for the interim.

 

Draco swigged more beer and found a bit of solace in the idea that he had an out.

 

* * *

 ***

 

Harry had sort of unofficially moved into Draco’s flat for a bit, while he saved up money for a place of his own and Draco had learned to mold himself around his new roommate. It hadn’t been as stressful as he assumed it would. Of course, Harry littered the small space with case files and research, trying to prove to his CO that he wasn’t just the Boy-Who-Lived. Draco had tried to keep the mess contained, but then he had started to pursue Healing and the rest of the space was taken up by sketches of anatomy, theories on magical remedies and endless articles on the art. They lived off cheap food and each other, engaging in an oddly successful balancing act that Draco would be infinitely proud of because he hadn’t gotten it with his family’s money.

 

They lived in between a magical and muggle zone, so they had both kinds of technology at their disposal. Harry had invested in a washing machine and a dryer, but Draco usually ended up being the one washing the clothes. He was a stickler for cleanliness and threw a fit if Harry didn’t do it right, so Harry had given up trying and left it to the pureblood.

 

Muggle washing machines were just buttons and waiting, but it was something calming for Draco after a long day at Mungos training. It was up to someone (or something) else to fix the problems and save the day.

 

Harry had laughed at him when he had found him partially draped over the washer, passed out from exhaustion.

 

He barely remembered being carried from there to his bedroom, but he clung to the memory of arms holding onto him.

 

It was probably a day or two later that Harry came back to their home - Draco hated admitting how _quickly_ he had taken to calling it _theirs_ \- and broke the peace by shattering the first thing he laid eyes on. It wasn’t anything special, just filler decoration that Draco had picked up at some muggle boutique because Harry had never had a _home_ to himself. Draco had been in the middle of making dinner and he came rushing out, his wand at the ready, to see Harry huffing angrily over the shards of some cheap vase.

 

“You know, you’ve completely _demolished_ the feng shui,” he said, saying the first thing to come to mind.

 

“I’m not in the mood, Draco.”

 

“I wasn’t planning on putting out anyway,” Ignoring the frustrated look aimed at him, Draco sighed. “Are you going to fix that or am I having dinner alone?”

 

Pausing, Harry sighed as well. His wand absentmindedly twirled and the vase put itself back together. “What’d you make?”

 

“Set the table and you’ll find out,” Draco headed back to the kitchen and he heard Harry laughing.

 

“You’re such a housewife.”

 

“House- _boyfriend_ , you haven’t made an honest man out of me.”

 

“Maybe I will, just to shut you up.”

 

Draco’s heart leapt in his chest and swallowed. The idea of doing this, though maybe in a bigger place - a _house_ \- where they could get truly comfortable was more than he could ever ask for. Since that moment they met for the first time since the war, Draco had held onto a seed of something like hope. He pushed down the brightness on his face as Harry came into the kitchen and tried to focus on the pasta in front of him. Arms came around him, strong and warm, and Draco fought a shudder. He tries to hold in his hope, but it slips out in its own way.

 

Later that night, as Harry is curled up behind him, he whispered for him to not rush off in the morning. He’d even wake up early to make him breakfast. Harry pressed a sleepy kiss to his neck.

 

The next morning, Draco woke up to the sunrise and an empty bed.

 

*** 

* * *

 

 

He was being ushered out of the pub and into the soft morning light before he realized he had spent all his muggle money already.

 

Stumbling, Draco turned back to the man who had guided him out and he thanked him. Or he tried. It came out slurred and nonsensical, so he waved vaguely in the hopes the man would understand and headed back toward the wizarding side of things. He had Galleons to spend still.

 

Familiar pathways led him to Diagon Alley and in his looser state, he found himself caught in a bit of nostalgia. It was tainted, like all memories, by the weight of time and he tried to duck in and out of open shops to reclaim the bright hope this place had once brought to him, but it was gone. Diagon was lifeless. He turned instead to something else familiar.

 

Knockturn Alley.

 

Harry hated that he knew the businesses here so well, but with the tightening laws on everything since Voldemort’s fall, Draco had started using his connections to acquire illegal medicines for the hospital. His superior knew about it and as long as it was moderated, it was allowed. Harry often looked the other way when he saw suspicious packages sitting on Draco’s kitchen table, marked with dealer’s sigils and giving off the air of the dark.

 

 _Not everything dark is bad, Harry_ , he had told him, putting the medicines out of sight. _It’s not like I’m relapsing or something_.

 

 _What’s the difference?_ Harry had asked him, and Draco, the fool, had smiled.

 

 _I’ve got you_.

 

 

* * *

 

***

 

Draco wasn’t sure why he decided to attend this year’s Victory Ball, but it had been a bit since he had gone somewhere overly public since his trial and he was tired of living in the shadows. So he had dressed up, in a dark shade of blue, and made sure his hair was perfectly coiffed.

 

Then he proceeded to spend nearly the entirety of the event hiding. He had taken two flutes of champagne, hoping maybe he could try to work his charms on someone, but his courage fled from him and he ended up skirting those gathered in a well-lit ballroom until he could sneak out into the back. This place had an impressive maze and he followed the outside edge of it, sipping from the champagne in one flute, and letting his mind wander.

 

It was the reason he gave as to why he nearly ran straight into the Boy-Who-Lived.

 

“Potter?” Draco asked, barely keeping the champagne from spilling everywhere. “Why are you out here?”

 

“Skeeter and the rest,” Potter looked up at him from his seat by some bushes, then seemed to realize who he was talking to. “You?”

 

“Me,” Draco said, then held out the untouched glass. “Thirsty?”

 

“How do I know it’s not poisoned?”

 

Rolling his eyes, Draco took a sip from the untouched flute. He swallowed deliberately and raised his eyebrows. “Thirsty?”

 

Harry reached up and took the offered champagne, sipping some. “I ducked out before she could find me...I kind of didn’t think ahead.”

 

“Color me surprised,” Draco watched Potter, realizing his _foot in the door_ drink had worked like a charm. He hadn’t actually planned to start a conversation with Harry Potter, but he was an idiot in a nice suit. He was allowed to make mistakes. Just for tonight. “Shall we hide together?”

 

“What are you hiding from?” Potter asked, incredulous.

 

“Skeeter and the rest,” Draco pursed his lips. “This suit’s silk, I’m not sitting on the ground.”

 

Harry shook his head. “Then don’t hide with me.”

 

Turning his gaze to the shrubs and the endless chance of losing anyone who stumbled upon them, Draco shrugged. “Or we could take a walk.”

 

“The last maze I was in had a dark wizard on the other end.”

 

Draco started forward, tossing his empty flute into the air before vanishing it. “Let’s see what’s at the end of this one.”

 

He moved ahead in earnest, not pausing or slowing down and he didn’t turn to see if he was being followed. He got four feet into the maze before Potter showed up and called out to him.

 

“Wait!”

 

“Are you joining me or what?” Draco asked, acting cooler than was.

 

“Not if you’re going to be a blockhead the entire time,” Potter griped, coming up beside him.

 

Leaning in, Draco stared into Harry’s eyes. “Catch me if you can.”

 

Draco sprinted away to the sound of Potter’s exasperated exhale, and set about finding the center of the maze. It was childish and impulsive, but Draco hadn’t found an easier person to talk to yet, so he wasn’t going to complain. Besides, he wanted to live a little. Isn’t that what Victory Balls were all about?

 

“Malfoy!” he heard Potter call from behind him and he laughed, glancing over his shoulder. Potter was chasing him, half a smile on his own face, and Draco stuck his tongue out. He dodged a harmless spell in the next second, turning so he faced Potter and pulled a face. The next spell hit him directly in the legs and he tumbled to the ground.

 

He lay there, panting, his silk suit probably ruined now, and laughed to himself. Potter hovered above him, breathless as well.

 

“Caught...you...” Potter gloated between intakes of fresh air and Draco reached a hand up. Potter grasped it to help him up, but Draco used it to tug him down.

 

“Got you, too,” Draco informed him, leaning back and closing his eyes.

 

Something warm and dry pressed against his lips and Draco opened his eyes. Potter was propped up on an elbow beside him and seemed just as surprised.

 

“I’m sorry,” Potter apologized, hurrying to his feet. Draco hurried to his own before Potter could run away.

 

“You get to kiss me but I can’t kiss you?”

 

“What?” Potter blinked and Draco shook his head, closing ground quickly.

 

“Always unfair,” he muttered, cupping Potter’s jaw with his hands and planting the deepest kiss he could manage without tongue. He pulled away when Potter was gasping for air and nodded. “Good night.”

 

Draco got about a yard before he was set upon, Potter’s hands grabbing at him until he turned, offering up what he had. He suddenly felt up for anything, as long as Potter was with him.

 

***

* * *

 

Draco had convinced himself it was love.

 

 _Love_. Like a fucking fairy tale. Merlin, he hated himself so damn much.

 

Rumor had it that the ancient magic that spared Harry all those years ago, gave him a scar to remember his near-death by, had been his mother’s love. A muggleborn’s love had been stronger than the Dark Lord’s magic. It seemed too good to be true. When he had been a child, he had been fascinated by the mere idea. Maybe that was why it was so easy to break him.

 

Nostalgia cloaked the dagger that ended him.

 

He clenched his fists until his nails dug painfully into his palms, and turned into the first store he came across that was open. By a sort of providence, it was the same place where he bought his black market meds. Pasting on a smile and the swagger of a person who had _plans_ and _control_ , Draco walked up to the counter. An older woman with her hair shaved on the sides and more piercings than he would have assumed possible if he hadn’t seen the worst that people could do to their bodies, looked up at him.

 

“Malfoy, your usual?”

 

“Double it and toss in a couple of your special shots,” he leaned against the counter, he gazed up at her from under his lashes. She shook her head.

 

“Hard day?”

 

Draco nodded, though he had been through worse. “A bit. I pulled three shifts.”

 

She blinked in surprise, pulling two boxes wrapped in brown paper out from under her counter. She turned to the drawers behind her and pulled out two tiny vials of purple potion. With a flick of her wand, she had them both bagged and inconspicuous. She set them on the counter.

 

“Twenty Galleons.”

 

Hissing at the amount, he handed her an entire pouch he kept just for this interaction. “Keep the change.”

 

“Have a nice day, Malfoy.”

 

“Yeah, you too.”

 

* * *

 

***

 

Harry had been promoted for the second time in six months and Draco had moved floors in Mungos, so they saw each other for less than an hour every day. No matter what Draco planned, they spent the time in the same way.

 

There wasn’t a spot in his flat that hadn’t been christened, and while he was proud of how eager he could make the Boy-Who-Lived, he wanted more than a quickie between shifts. He felt...well, a little less than a whore. He didn’t even get _paid_. When he said as much to Harry, he ended up on his back in the living room, too distracted by kisses to argue. Rent had been paid for three months the next day. It had left a sour taste in his mouth.

 

Then for a few weeks, just because things got hectic, they didn’t see each other at all. Draco came home only to shower and change, maybe catch a couple hours of sleep and then he was back at work. Harry was never there.

 

When he was, or when Draco molded his schedule around Harry’s so they could be off at the same time, Draco found himself cooking dinner and listening to Harry go on and on in frustration about his caseload. Draco felt the same about his ever increasing rounds and he felt like he was finding the balance again. He even started a regular dinner night, when both of them could curl up on the couch and watch a movie on the TV Arthur Weasley had tampered with as a gift to Harry for his first promotion.

 

In the dark, with only the illumination of whatever movie they were watching, Draco imagined his future. He stared at Harry’s profile and ran his hands through black hair. He imagined it graying, transposed wrinkles and laugh lines over Harry’s face and his heart jumped in his chest.

 

If only he could be so lucky.

 

Harry went on a month long mission soon after they started to settle and Draco was alone again.

 

***

* * *

 

The sun was crawling up the sky about as slow as Draco was walking and he saw his flat just a block or so ahead of him. If he can delay for another half-hour at least, Harry would be forced to go to work and he could set out changing every ward in the place. Or he could pack up and flee. He had precious few places he could go to. The last place he wanted to go was to his parents, especially after he had made such a fuss about going it alone. They would think he was giving it up.

 

He hadn’t even given up healing for _Harry_ and he had been entirely _convinced_ of how deeply they were in love.

 

Draco’s lungs were reluctant to do their job the closer he got to his flat and he took a break beside the brick wall of a muggle’s store as he tried to calm down. He realized it was the beginnings of a panic attack and he focused on breathing. He stared at a perfectly square brick on the ground in front of him until he could breathe easy.

 

Leaning back against the bricks, Draco held his face in his hands. He just wanted this to be _over_. 

 

* * *

 

***

 

The first time he saw Harry after his month long mission, it was on the arm of Ginny Weasley.

 

Draco was attending a gala on behalf of St Mungos, and he had been enjoying the conversations happening all around him. Since he had agreed to use Malfoy clout to earn the institution more donors, his superior had given him three days off. He felt more rested and aware than he had in months.

 

He played the part of a pious pureblood in the service of the greater good, which was only a stretch inasmuch as he had to pretend he was doing it because of some higher calling. He had pursued it to get the tabloids off of him and found he liked it. The press weren’t allowed inside Mungos unless by special order of the Minister and that was saved for very special occasions. But after a few years at it, he had found a purpose beyond hiding from his past. He could control the futures of anyone who came through the doors. He could _save_ lives.

 

Astoria Greengrass was a close friend and had pureblood clout as well, so he enlisted her help in winning over of those attending this gala. She had been handing him a glass of champagne and he had been smiling to himself as he thought about another time, when the crowd has begun to chatter. He turned with the rest of them to see what the fuss was about and saw Harry with Ginny. At first, he assumed it was like him and Astoria, purely business, but then Harry cupped Ginny’s jaw in the same way he did with Draco and kissed her.

 

The flute of champagne slipped from his fingers and crashed to the floor. Those closest to him turned to the noise, but he was already sprinting away.

 

Astoria followed him and he slowed down so she wouldn’t trip in her heels and hurt herself. He wasn’t _that_ dramatic.

 

“Draco, what was that?” she sounded confused and if he knew any more than her, he would have explained straight away. Instead, he ran his hand through his hair and paced.

 

“I...don’t...I don’t know.”

 

“I thought you said you two were...”

 

“Yeah,” Draco laughed but it caught in his throat and changed somehow. “Maybe it’s for show.”

 

“It’s not illegal, Draco. He has nothing to hide,” she stopped him pacing and took his hands. He looked up at her, ignoring what she was implying.

 

“He’s famous, he’s...he’s got a reputation to uphold.”

 

“You’re a Healer, not a Death Eater. Everyone knows that. All those politicians in that gala were just praising you over it. You’re _exactly_ the sort of person they’d expect Perfect Potter to be with.”

 

“But I’m not am I?” he snapped and shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Draco,” Astoria held his face, forcing him to look at her. “It’s not right.”

 

Tears welled up in his eyes and he sighed. “I love him, Astoria.”

 

“Oh, darling,” she pulled him into a hug and he buried his face in her neck. He forced his tears back, refusing to look like a lovesick fool at a gala full of sharks. “You deserve more than shadows. After all you’ve done to make things right...you shouldn’t be treated like this.”

 

Draco heard her and he agreed, but the thought that he would have to break up with Harry - would have to pretend it wouldn’t destroy him inside to do it - it was too much to bear.

 

A scoff caught Draco’s attention and he looked up from Astoria’s neck to see Harry watching them from the doorway. The sneer that greeted him was like a knife to his chest. He pulled away from Astoria and begged her to take him home. She nodded.

 

 

Draco had taken Astoria out for dinner before he dropped her off at her place, returning home alone. He was exhausted, more mentally and emotionally than anything, and he unlocked his door by habit. He didn’t realize he wasn’t alone until he hung up his cloak. He turned to the living room, wondering if perhaps he could watch a mindless movie until he fell asleep, when he noticed Harry sitting on the couch.

 

Angry, hurt and feeling as if absolutely _nothing_ belonged to him, Draco stomped past the living room and into the kitchen. He dug his Firewhisky out and swigged from it before Harry could get off the couch to follow.

 

“Enjoy your night?” Draco rasped, taking another swig.

 

“I could ask you the same thing.”

 

“Well, in that case,” He turned to Harry and smiled bright. “I had a _wonderful_ night. Astoria is a magnificent date.”

 

“So, you’re dating her?”

 

Blinking in faux-confusion, Draco frowned. “I’m sorry?” he leaned toward Harry with one ear, as though he couldn’t hear him. “Since when has that been _your_ business?”

 

Scoffing again, just like he had at the gala, Harry crossed his arms. “You’re m...”

 

Draco laughed long and loud so he couldn’t hear the rest of Harry’s words. “That’s such bullshit.”

 

“I’m not the one running around with purebloods at parties.”

 

“ _Aren’t you_?!” Draco shouted, then regretted how much emotion had shone through. He turned his back and gulped down more Firewhisky. “I don’t even know why we’re talking about this.”

 

“I left for a month and the first time I see you, you’re cavorting with...with some girl.”

 

“Astoria’s not _some girl_. And what exactly am I supposed to understand happened between you and the Weaslette, huh?” At Harry’s silence, Draco smiled even brighter. It hurt his cheeks. “ _Oh_. It’s different when it’s you, right? The Boy-Who-Lived can break everyone’s hearts if he wants to.”

 

“I didn’t _break your heart_ ,” Harry stepped closer to him and snatched the Firewhisky out of his hands.  “Stop drinking.”

 

“This is _my_ flat, that’s _my_ booze, that I bought with _my_ money,” Draco had to push against Harry to get it back. “You’re fucking childish.”

 

“I’m childish?” Harry watched him gulp down another drink and Draco’s first step away was unsteady.

 

“I’m making a _home_ here. I’m trying to build a _future_ for us and you’re...you’re probably sleeping with Weaslette!”

 

Harry’s face changed. The frustration slipped away and he stared at Draco as if he hadn’t ever seen him before. Then his shoulders slumped and he looked down at the ground. Draco took a step back and bumped into the counter’s edge. He glanced down at it in confusion, then back up at Harry. Blinking, Draco’s mind took a long minute to catch up with what he was seeing. He started to speak, but words failed him and his hands shook, so he set the Firewhisky down roughly. His eyes darted back and forth from Harry’s left eye to his right, and he swallowed.

 

“You...” Draco took in the entirety of his kitchen as though the place had suddenly burst into flames. “You and...”

 

“I had no idea it was this serious for you,” Harry began to say and Draco’s mouth hung open as he tried to understand.

 

“For me...” Frowning, he stumbled back another step. “All this time and...and you thought...”

 

“We’re flatmates,” Harry told him as if it was obvious. “I mean, we sleep together every once in awhile, but...we’ve never been on a date, never talked about a _future_ together. I...just assumed you only sleep with one person at a time on principle.”

 

Letting out a breathy laugh, Draco pressed his lips together. “That’s a _committed relationship_ , you arsehole!”

 

Harry shook his head and Draco walked away, heading towards his bedroom. He needed a shower, preferably with pure acid, and he slammed the door shut behind him. It came open a second later as he was tugging his jacket off.

 

“Get out,” he said softly, loosening his tie.

 

“Draco, I’m sorry,” Harry began, stepping into the room. “I didn’t know.”

 

Kicking off his boots and undoing his belt, Draco parroted Harry’s scoff. “You didn’t care.”

 

Hands slid against his bare back and he nearly sobbed. Earlier today, that simple touch would have felt like every planet aligning, but now it felt like the frigid water of a bathroom back in Hogwarts. Except he couldn’t see his wound and there was no blood. His attacker was the same.

 

Shaking, Draco closed his eyes and gave himself a second to remember what it had felt like to love the man behind him. It rushed up into his chest and he cracked at the strength of it. A sob escaped him and he forced himself to move away.

 

“Don’t touch me,” Draco retreated with his hands up, trying to get to the bathroom. He could lock the door and barricade himself in if he had to. “Please leave.”

 

“Draco.”

 

“Please leave me alone.”

 

“Just let me explain.”

 

“ _Merlin_ , Harry,” he gasped, his heart in tatters. “Just go.”

 

“Draco, please.”

 

“Get out! GET OUT!” He kept screaming it until Harry sighed and left. He waited until he felt the wards settle, until his knees gave out, until he couldn’t hold it back anymore.

 

He didn’t move for the next two days.

 

***

* * *

 

Draco took the steps up to his flat as slow as he could, but he found himself at his own door earlier than he wanted to. He could tell from the wards that Harry was inside and he felt sick.

 

There had been a time when feeling Harry through his wards had been that _thing_ , that landmark that told him he was home. _Harry_ had been his home. He grit his teeth and rocked in place, trying to decide if he had the strength for this. Every part of him said no. His heart, battered and bruised, lit up like a torch and he pushed forward.

 

He kept his eyes closed as he opened the door, turning and setting his cloak in the closet and heading for his bedroom without doing more than peeking at the floor ahead of him. He shut the door firmly and locked it, dropping the medicines on his bed. He hadn’t seen Harry. He had managed to get all the way into a relatively safe place. He almost laughed at how badly he had dreaded going home.

 

Outside his door, he heard movement and he backed away from it as if it were a manticore.

 

“Draco,” Harry called softly and it pierced Draco to his soul.

 

“I’m moving,” he called, his voice steady despite the tears in his eyes. “I’ll be gone by Monday.”

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“Does it matter?”

 

“Of course it does.”

 

Draco sat down on his bed, running his hands over his face. “Why now?”

 

Something heavy hit his door and slid down. “I swear I thought it was just sex for you.”

 

“Well, you always thought I was shallow,” Draco sneered, digging through his bag for one of the purple shots. “I shouldn’t have been surprised.”

 

“How I was supposed to know? None of it was conventional, you never said...”

 

Draco closed his eyes. “I thought I did. Every day, every night, every second I spent with you. Everything I did.”

 

Harry was silent for a moment. “I...I saw you like I always did.”

 

“Selfish, impulsive, focused only on myself?” he sighed. “You know better than _anyone_ I buried that boy years ago. I didn’t spend years becoming a Healer so I could be selfish.”

 

“But why me?” Harry asked, his voice muffled. “You could have fallen for anyone.”

 

“I didn’t fall for anyone but you,” Draco inhaled and exhaled, the tiny vial in his hand forgotten. “It was only ever you.”

 

His doorknob turned and he put the vial back. The door remained closed. “Let me in, Draco, please.”

 

“How’s Ginny?” he asked instead of moving, hugging his arms around himself.

 

“She’s furious with me.”

 

“Rightly so.”

 

“Yeah, especially when I told her about you. She told me I was a daft buffoon and deserved whatever you gave me.”

 

“You didn’t break her heart, too, did you?”

 

Harry laughed, but it was too thick to be genuine. “No...we had only reconnected like that a week before...before.”

 

“So it’ll just be me in the broken hearts club. I suppose that’s good news.”

 

“Damn it, Draco,” Harry whispered to him and he thought he heard a sniffle. “Please let me in.”

 

“I don’t trust myself around you.”

 

“I won’t touch you. I’ll keep my distance,” The weight against the door shifted. “I just want to see you.”

 

Draco stared at the door and he couldn’t deny how much he wished they could just kiss and make-up. He wanted to be held again. The masochistic vein in him gave him a boost and he got to his feet, slowly coming closer to the door. The space between his fingers and the doorknob seemed like an uncrossable chasm, but he closed his eyes and grabbed it firmly. The wards around it shifted and he twisted the knob enough for it to open a sliver. He backed as far away as he could from it.

 

Slowly, Harry pushed it open.

 

The Boy-Who-Lived looked about as good as Draco felt. He was wearing muggle jeans and a t-shirt, his feet bare, but it was obvious from his unkempt face and unruly hair that he hadn’t gone to work. His eyes were red and puffy behind his specs.

 

“You look like shit,” Draco said, not moving an inch.

 

“You...you look gorgeous.”

 

Draco wouldn’t call himself shy, wouldn’t even entertain it, but his cheeks warmed and he bit the inside of his cheek. “Thanks for noticing. It’s about time.”

 

“I’m an idiot.”

 

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

 

“I love you, too,” Harry told him, his voice clear as day. Draco widened his eyes to keep his tears in, but they fell anyway. It’s all he had ever wanted to hear. The fact that it had come after all this was just his _whole life_ in a nutshell.

 

He looked away. “Are you...are you done?”

 

Harry licked his lips nervously but nodded. “I deserved that.”

 

“Yeah,” Draco crossed his arms.

 

Sighing, Harry took a step back. “I made dinner...or breakfast, now, I guess.”

 

“You lay out candles and rose petals too?”

 

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “I blew out the candles around midnight.”

 

Laughing, Draco shook his head. “What did I ever see in you?”

 

“I don’t know...but if you’d like to...” Harry sighed. “I was thinking this could be a date.”

 

“You want to start over?” Draco pushed his hope down and looked at Harry warily.

 

“Well, I made a mess of it the first time.”

 

“Yeah, you did.”

 

“Want to cry over my attempt at pasta?”

 

Seeing as all he’d had all night was liquid, Draco decided it would be best if he ate something. “Sure.”

 

 

They sat at Draco’s miniscule dining table in silence for a bit, shoving food into their mouths so they wouldn’t have to talk. Or, at the very least, that was Draco’s reasoning. The pasta wasn’t bad, which lessened the blow a little, but he had to rack his brain for something to say. Something came to him as he sipped his water. He had opted for something non alcoholic since he _really_ did not trust himself.

 

“What were you going to tell me that one time?”

 

“One time?” Harry asked, licking sauce off his fork. Draco averted his eyes.

 

“You were going to come back from work and tell me something, but I got called in that night and you never brought it up again. You told me not to cry.”

 

Harry smiled and Draco found himself unable to look away. He already looked better. Maybe it was the lighting. “I got a bonus, and I...well, I got impulsive.”

 

“So...you bought a motorbike?”

 

“No,” Harry shook his head and scooped up more pasta. “I have Sirius’, anyway.”

 

“So...what did you buy?”

 

“I bought a house.”

 

Draco’s fork paused halfway to his mouth and he frowned at Harry. “You bought a house?”

 

“I think that’s what I said. Did I say something else?”

 

“Why did you buy a house?”

 

“We were always going on about you being a house-boyfriend as a joke, but I...I guess I thought you’d like a house.”

 

“But you’re the one who always wanted your own house.”

 

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to be alone.”

 

“Who was going to be with you? Ginny?”

 

“Oh, Merlin,” Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose and his specs moved up to his forehead. “This is why I thought it was one-sided.”

 

“You thought _I_ didn’t love _you_?” Draco’s rose had raised about four octaves, but it was more out of shock than anything.

 

“I told you not to be surprised!”

 

“About the house!”

 

“It still stands,” Harry argued, a laugh in his voice and a smile on his face.

 

“How could you think for one second that I wasn’t head over heels for you?” Draco asked, exasperated.

 

“We were always joking,” Harry said, twirling his food around. “Somewhere down the line I thought maybe I was the only one who felt anything.”

 

Draco sat back in his chair and watched Harry, his mind reeling. “So you thought I just liked having the Boy-Who-Lived in my cramped flat...for sex?”

 

“You are a Malfoy.”

 

“That’s not synonymous with promiscuous.”

 

“Why all the long words? You could have said it’s not the same as being a whore.”

 

“Not every person who sleeps around is a whore.”

 

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

 

“You don’t mean anything like you say it and you barely say anything you _do_ mean,” Draco pushed his seat back and stood up. “I can’t believe you.”

 

He started back towards his room, planning to take one of the purple shots and going to bed. He’d be out for at least twelve hours. Harry was a step behind him, but he didn’t touch him.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“To bed.”

 

“Can I join you?”

 

Draco spun around with his eyes narrowed and growled, “If you think I’m going to hop in bed with you, after all of this...”

 

“I meant to sleep. If...if you want. We don’t have to do anything.”

 

“How do I know you’ll sleep?”

 

“Do you think I’m going to take advantage of you?” Harry seemed hurt by the idea.

 

“You have already.”

 

Swallowing that, Harry sighed. “You went to that place. Did you get any sleeping draught?”

 

Draco frowned. “How did you know where I went?”

 

“I might be blind to some things, Draco, but I know more than you think,” Harry looked towards Draco’s room. “You’d come home on your days off and toss and turn for hours. I’d come in, if I was home, and try to... _tire you out_. After work got really busy for me, I was worried you’d be up for days. I tried to come home earlier, but you were already fast asleep. I saw the shots.”

 

Draco stared at Harry, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. He hadn’t realized Harry had noticed anything.

 

“Can I take a potion-induced mid-morning nap with you?” Harry asked, hesitantly holding out his hand.

 

Sighing, Draco took Harry’s hand. “You better be glad I bought two.”

 

 

As Draco started to drift, he rolled closer to Harry by habit. A strong arm came around him and he sighed, “I’m going to need ten more dates, a public announcement and the keys to your house before I forgive you.”

 

“Sounds reasonable,” Harry mumbled, his eyes closed. “You already have your own set of keys.”

 

“You’re an idiot, have I ever told you?”

 

“Never,” Harry whispered, his voice nearly gone. “...first I’ve heard of it.”

 

“It won’t be the last.”

 

“It better not be.”

 

“I love you,” Draco whispered softly, clinging to consciousness with a thin string.

 

Pulling Draco in tighter, Harry pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Clockwork by Easton Corbin. It sort of went off on its own; sorry for any mistakes, I'm just tired of looking at it. *shrugs sheepishly* I need to do more one-shots. One of these days I'll write something with pure fluff. Though I tried to find a happy ending for this. Thanks for reading!
> 
> You can also drop me a line on my [ Tumblr. ](http://tickle2kill.tumblr.com/ask)


End file.
